


The Friday Night Block

by surely_silly



Series: all good children grow teeth and claws gently [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Fic, Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9567965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surely_silly/pseuds/surely_silly
Summary: Some things were just not Scamander's to tell.





	1. the death slot pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise Zabini. The beginning of Fourth Year.

The human firsties don't avoid him. They don't get particularly close, and the part-human firstie is a tragedy unto herself, but two, two of the _non-human_ firsties, now they actively stay out of his way. Skirt around him, and one in particular, now, he seems excessively _wary_ of the other.

They both barely come up to his chest, and it's somewhat adorable. If only they came with less _stress_.

So, it's only a few days into term when Blaise spots the boy shooting subtle glances at the girl lazily warming herself by the hearth. He's not getting an ounce of work done, and when fifteen minutes go by of this, the fourth year decides it's now or ever.

 

 

"Take a picture and it'll last longer, believe me," Blaise says, amused at the squeak and near tumble the first years takes from the chair.

 

 

The boy stares at him, eyes wide and fearful. Oh, yes, this one can tell, _knows_ how small he is. There's potential, potential to be as big and bad as Blaise could be. Just. Not yet, but maybe by the time he graduates.

"P-Please don't eat m-me," the boy stammers, quietly, and looks about ready to bolt.

With a once over, a lazy smirk finds its way onto the older boy's face, and he leans further over the arm of the sofa. "Mm, you're much too gamey looking for me," Blaise says, and then when the kid, and he thinks the last name was _Bhagat_ , takes a relieved breath, adds: "Maybe once you're older, more blood, after all."

Except. That ends up being a very miscalculated move because Bhagat takes a heaving gasp, shocked, and it comes back up as a wheeze and tears of fright.

 _Ah._ Too far. A joke in too bad a taste, and he makes to remedy that, an apology gracing the tip of his tongue-

"Y-You leave him a-alone," interrupts a shaky voice, and Blaise tips his head to side. It's the other first year. Khan. She looks near faint herself, but clearly determined despite it. "Just b-because y-you're bigger-"

The common room isn't empty, but it's almost curfew for the younger years, and the upper years don't really come down until they're gone. So, it's just Astoria and the Carrows off in a corner, studying, and Higgs also lounging by the fireplace with a book. Listening, no doubt.

 

 _Brace yourselves_ , he thinks, projecting the thought just faint enough, and straightens up from the back of the chair. Khan has barely a split second to widen her eyes before.

 

Blaise _snarls_ , lets it build up easily from his chest, and his lips peel back from his teeth, eyes filming black.

The entire room seems to jolt, and Bhagat shoots right off the cushion, book and papers sent flying as he scrambles away.

Khan only falters, stumbles back a few steps. Her eyes are as round as tea cup saucers and suddenly a brilliantly vivid and yellow amber, pupils thins slits with fear. He can see the tremble to her tiny body, the way her throat works with a hard swallow, and his estimation of her rises just a notch.

The girl retakes the ground she lost. "Y-You don't s-scare m-me," she stutters, hands drawing to fists, and bares her own teeth with a faint hiss.

Oh, precious, a _fighter_. Refreshing. "Don't I?" he says, smiles around his pin needle teeth. Out of the corner of his eyes, Bhagat is a mess, face gone dull with fear as he shakily picks himself up. In equal measure to them both, Blaise thinks, the younger boy's eyes darting between him and Khan. Unsure of the bigger threat, surprisingly enough.

Khan's fangs glisten with beads of venom, an iridescent and pearl white against her dark gums. "N-No, you're j-just a b-bully."

Oh, but he does, he absolutely _terrifies_ her. Just… not how he meant it.

Curiosity sated, Blaise is just about to back off, really, he was. The fourth  year knows when to, thank you, but suddenly Higgs himself is there.

"Oh shove off, Zabini," the sixth year drawls, right hand dropping gently onto Khan's head. Protective. Yes, a _serpent_ , and although he had surmised as much, a few things don't add up because.

Because what _fears_ them? _Hates_ them to this degree? Because, that is burgeoning and thoughtless hatred stirring in Bhagat's young eyes. It has to be nipped in the bud before one of them ends up dead, and Higgs knows that. This is half as much improvised as it is planned, after all.

 _This is shaping up to be quite the year_ , he muses, and smoothly arranges himself into something a little less looming, a little less hungry looking.

Blaise raises his hands in mock surrender and takes a step away from the chair. "I do so sincerely apologize," he demurs, eyes lowering just a tad to let the younger occupants of the room become at ease. Higgs won't fall for it, as he isn't meant to. "Name it, and I'll bring you two whatever sweet first Hogsmeade weekend."

Khan looks skeptical, confused, and Bhagat watery and bewildered as he stands, but Higgs ruffles the first's hair free from it's messy bun. "He's rich, so take him for everything he's worth, brats," the upper year encourages before turning away. He gives Bhagat a pat on his shaven head as he heads for the stairs on the heels of the Carrows and Astoria, tosses over his shoulder: "Zabini is an arsehole, but a _nice_ one."

 _Traitors_ , he grumbles, maybe a little fondly.

The boy gives an indignant huff, and Khan whirls around, probably to say something scathing or another at the retreating sixth year, but it brings her face to face with Bhagat, and they both freeze. Like two predators stumbling over one another in muddled territory. Which, is probably spot on. Such sheltered lives they've lead.

Nearly forgotten, Blaise heads the confrontation off. "I don't know what it is between you two, but this isn't home, and not everything your parents tell you is exactly how the outside world works," he says. Their eyes are back on him then, both dark brown, with Bhagat uncurling and curling his hands at his side, Khan's fisted in the sides of her robes. _Children_. "If you both get exposed for something as petty as a rivalry, it's on you two."

Bhagat looks disbelieving. "But she's _naga_ ," he protests, weakly in Blaise's opinion. "And I'm _Garuda_ , we can't—" He flounders for a moment, a loss at words. "We just can't," the boy finishes, lamely.

Blaise arches an eyebrow. "Khan here doesn't seem to think that way," he counters, and Bhagat turns a poor imitation of a disgusted look on the girl, who flushes, face darkening.

"I-I would not mind being friends," she admits, clearly conflicted about this turn of events. She's probably asking herself how they went from being harassed to being mediated.

It almost elicits a chuckle out of the upper year. "How about that," Blaise says, and Bhagat looks absolutely _pained_.

"You're not supposed to be nice!" he despairs, like the world is crumbling down by his ears. "You hate us and we hate you, so why—" Bhagat pauses, eyes going wide with some sort of realization. "Trickster! This is a trick, s-some, s-some sort of p-ploy!"

 

 

This is ridiculous.

 

 

"It is n-not!" she warbles in return, face drawn with indignation and not a little hurt. "I wouldn't do something like that, you, you overgrown _chicken_!"

Bhagat looks scandalized for all of one second before he snarls _something,_ mean faced, and Khan rears back, jaws widening with a loud hiss.

Dear Morgana. "Okay," Blaise starts, drawing the word out, and stepping forward, "it's curfew time for you both—"

But then Bhagat is swinging first, arm suddenly thick with corded muscle and face curdling milk white with a hair raising  _rage._

 

 

 

 

 

_Fuck._

 

 

 

 

 

Blaise is almost not fast enough to push the girl out of the way, and doesn't quite manage to dodge himself.

The boy's fist connects with his side, and.

 

 

 

There's an audible _crack,_ soft tissue going mush, marrow splintering, and pain _explodes_ up his side. The force of it spins him around, and Khan's horrified face meets his surprised own as he drops like a stone.

 

That… that was u-unexpected.

 

She scrambles over, clawed fingers clicking against the stone floor. The girl shrieks, words high pitched and unintelligible, and tugs at the fabric of his robes. It sounds familiar, but.  Blaise really ought to continue his language studies. He'd maybe know a word or two if he had.

A strangled sob, somewhere out of sight. "H-He j-just jumped in the w-way! I didn't—"

It's nothing a little food won't fix. If someone would offer, or just go get someone or take him to Madam Pomfrey. He's not as hardy as a fully grown or even a full-vampire, but it would still take a lot more than this to kill him, and strangely Blaise wants to reassure the boy of that fact.

The itching fire of pulverized organs and shattered hip bone will drive home a very good lesson for Bhagat, for the both of them, in the end.

 

 

 

 

Blaise is going to take a nap right now, though. Once he wakes up he'll—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't seen FTBaWtFT just yet, but I will eventually  
> (also Zuibeida Khan sounds like Irrfan Khan, and Yatin Bhagat sounds like Manmohan Singh)
> 
> Comments and such are always welcome!


	2. the death slot pt. 2

The smell of fresh blood pulls him from unconsciousness. Blaise drinks the scent down with a long and deep inhale, eyes black at the pitch of the curtained bed.

Shifting, bones grind uncomfortably, and Blaise sighs, falls still. "I'm hungry," he tells whoever is outside, licks the back of his teeth.

 

Blood. But not enough. He's in his bed, not the infirmary.

 

The fabric peels back, and it's Theodore, hair sticking out like he's only just rolled out of his own bed. It's barely a shade lighter behind him. "My blood's going to taste absolutely _awful_ , just so you know," the other boy says, pressing his wrist forward. "Praised Summer in June, Winter lackey."

Blaise makes a face at the other fourth year even as the the smell is completely ensnaring. "Just give me your boney wrist already," he growls, and then there's flesh at his lips, weeping vein dribbling blood across his lips.

His teeth press forward, automatic, and his hands come up to grip Theodore's arm. The blood flow quickens, and _Dear Merlin_. It tastes like sunflowers and water dripping off leaves. Absolutely _disgusting_ with the heat haze suffusing through it. It warms him, uncomfortably so, but all too soon the other boy is flexing his fingers. _Enough._

Blaise let's go with a disgruntled hiss and after a purposeful lick across the cut, two parts reluctant and glad to. "Awful," he echoes, snidely as his hands fall away. All of a sudden he's tired again, exhaustion dogging his thoughts toward stillness, rest. "Just awful."

"Uh-huh," Theodore agrees, smirking, but.

 

Blaise blinks muzzily, and turns his head, kneads his face into his pillow.

Sleep drags him down, and _down._

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Squabbling wakes up him up next, the sound of grinding teeth and hisses.

 

 

" _—hurt him! Go away!_ "

 

 

Blaise shifts, exhales into his pillow, and rolls onto his back. The voices sound familiar. Hmm.

 

 

" _—just wanted to a-apologize. Higgs said I could come up…_ "

 

 

" _I w-wanted to thank him._ "

 

 

Ah. That last one. Khan. So Bhagat, and…?

 

 

" _I do not care. Leave!_ "

 

Haneda. _Yurika._

 

" _Yurika-chan, it's okay,_ " he says, and they all fall silent. He sits up gingerly, and Blaise clears his throat, grimacing. His Japanese is barely adequate. 

The curtains of his bed pull open a spot, and light brown eyes regard him as if he's said something ridiculous. " _Your hip was in pieces and your side sunk in_ ," she says, teeth sharp behind her lips. " _I don't trust them._ "

"I'm sure they've both learned their lessons," he counters in English. "I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself."

There's a beat, and Yurika stares at him, eyes fluttering. Then _—_ Thenshe just seems to _crumple_.

" _C-Clearly_ ," she hiccups, face screwing up, and promptly bursts into tears.

There are two startled noises, but Blaise just raises his arms, and the first year bundles into him with a sob. Her fingers dig painfully into his still sore side, but it's negligible compared to how it was before.

"Scared you something horrible, did I?" he murmurs, and Yurika nods into his shoulder, clutches tighter. "I'm really sorry about that."

Fingers curl tentatively around the edges of his now gaped curtains as Blaise thinks a quick _tempus_ with the crook of a finger. _6:11am_ shivers in the air next to Khan's head when she peeks in.

"Are… are they okay?" she asks, whispers, eyes a little wide. Blaise squints at her. _They._ "They must care a lot for you."

"Her," he says, mildly, and the other first year nods, meekly. "But, yes, I suppose she does."

 _With a family like hers, I'd wager I'm her only real friend,_ he thinks. Her family is almost on par for the Carrows', and that's… pretty bad.

Khan opens her mouth, but the fabric behind her ripples, and she jerks her head around with a soft, defensive hiss.

There's a quiet, " _Sorry_ ," and he imagines that Bhagat steps away from the bed, cowed, to Khan's grimly satisfied look.

"I just wanted to thank you," she says when she turns back, eyes lowering to look away. "You didn't have to shove me out of the way but you did, and got hurt, so, um, your first round was on me and him."

Blaise goes still. "Higgs let you, didn't he?"

With a wince, she nods. "Your friend, Nott, was very unhappy for some reason, but it was too late."

Merlin, too trusting, too fucking _naive_.

"You shouldn't go around giving your blood willingly to strangers, no matter a possible life debt," he tells her, almost mildly, because—

He can feel the fledgling connection, now. Thank Morganna it wasn't a lot, or he'd have a lot more to deal with than a few vague emotions that aren't his own to puzzle out. Blaise can almost feel the full extent of her gratitude, and residual resignation to…

 

 

 

_I see._

 

 

 

"But, just to drive that home as well," he continues, parsing a thread of crawling and foreign _shame_ , "I could have had you both under a thrall if I'd been given even an _ounce_ more of blood."

It seems to hit them then, hands flying to their mouths. The fear is a little stronger, mirrored by both Khan and Bhagat, and Yurika tightens her hold on him.

"Why did he offer that to us?" demands Bhagat in a low hiss, pushing forward. Angry, horrified, belligerent within his fear. "We _trusted_ him."

 

 

_Your first mistake._

 

 

"To teach you both a lesson, I'm sure," Blaise guesses. That sounds about right, and it makes cold anger coil in his chest. Higgs knew, and still did it.

 

Dear, oh, dear. Retribution will be _glorious._

 

"That's awful," Bhagat whispers, stricken.

Blaise shifts Yurika, rolling his shoulders. "Imagine how _awful_ it would have been if Khan was mortally wounded."

The muddled shame rises equal to the the fear then, but the connection is losing any sort of clarity fast. A couple more hours, and it'll be gone completely.

Bhagat turns away, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Khan squirms uncomfortably in place, and Blaise sighs.

"Haneda, up, go get ready for the day," he tells the girl still wrapped around him. "I need a moment with these two."

With a sigh, the first year crawls off of him, face a blank and piercing visage as she gives the other two long looks.

"Haneda," he repeats, and she shoots him a dark look.

" _Don't order me around or I'll eat you_ ," she growls, and both Khan and Bhagat jump.

" _Just go, Yurika,_ " he stresses, weary. It's a sore point, to be told what to do. She gets that enough from her family, he knows.

With a sour hiss, she goes, stomping away and out of the room. Khan and Bhagat watch her go with wide eyes.

 

 

 

What a mess.

 

 

 

"You two need to work your shit out," Blaise says, once he's sure Yurika is gone, exhaustion catching up once more.

He's tried being nice, but if it takes lessons of near fatalities and loss of autonomy, and a harsh tone, then so fucking be it.

They both jerk as if hit, and shrink back.

"This rivalry may have been fine in whatever backalleys, formal duels, or guerilla warfare your ancestors have fought in, but you're amongst a majority of humans now, and here? They won't give two hippogriff shits about executing either of you for the slightest reason."

Blaise turns to Khan. "I know you were trying, and didn't instigate this, but if you knew that both of you would have such a serious problem, you should have came to someone for help if all else failed." Khan wilts under his words. It's not completely fair, not at all, but there are so _many others_ depending on their secrecy.

 

Then to Bhagat. "You, I'm the most disappointed in. Did you even think about how if you had hit Khan, you could have killed them? You would have been a murderer. Were you ready for the resulting consequences? Did you even consider what it would have been like for those around you, let alone your family, in the fall out?" Blaise hisses, looming forward. They both skitter back a step. "You may have thought they could get you out of it, but you're in Wizarding Britain, now: the Ministry would have sent you right on through the Veil or to Azkaban without so much as a by-your-leave, especially with Khan's family out for your head."

 

_Children._

Spent, Blaise drops back against his pillow, a nasty taste in his mouth. They've both hunched under the weight of his words, Bhagat with his eyes screwed shut, and Khan blinking rapidly at the floor.

"I'm sorry," Bhagat whispers. "I'm so, _so_  sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough, you need to do better," the fourth year says, closes his own eyes briefly. "Now, go back to your rooms, and just… just go."

 

 

Bhagat bolts, but Khan hesitates.

 

 

"My name is Zuibeda," theysays, and wipes at their eyes, trembling. "Thank you… thank you _so much_."

The gratitude is for a lot of things, but one thing in particular _resonates_ outside the helplessness, the frustration. _Relief._

"This is what us upper years are supposed to be for," Blaise says. "Guiding the younger ones."

Khan nods, and wipes once more at their eyes before leaving. The bonds fade to almost nothing with the distance, and Blaise deflates with a long sigh.

 

 

 

A beat.

 

 

 

"You were almost kinda cool," comes the empty space outside his still gaped curtains, mocking. "' _This is what us upper years are supposed to be for, guiding the younger ones._ ' I couldn't have told a better lie myself."

"It's as true as we make it," Blaise replies, and then sighs. "Don't be such an arse, Nott, I did say 'supposed to be.'"

The other fourth year flickers into view, frowning. "Tell that to Higgs," Theodore drawls.

Blaise hums sleepily. "Oh, have no doubt, I will."

"Good," he says, and pulls a dark vial from inside his robes. "Here, contribution from the man in question himself. I suppose he meant it as a peace offering, but…"

"Too little, too late."


	3. leaked pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and George, Summer after Fourth Year.

They're degnoming the yard, yet again, when they hear it.

 

 

 

A high pitched shriek, a choked cry.

 

 

 

Fred is running before George, gnome slipping free from his fingers in a dismal arch. The pest lands with a hiss and darts back into the sparse bush as George falters for a moment, then races after his brother. There comes a  _whoosh_ of displaced air, a dry heat, and they stumble against the sudden warmth, strange with the morning's cool air.

_"Ginny?_ " they call, a doubling of bewildered voices.

She's been so fragile, but not. They're supposed to be watching her, but she's stronger than that, they know this. Mum wanted to keep her home, home school her for a year and let her recover, but their littlest sister was having none of that no sir.

"Ginny!" George cries again, and they skid along the dew wet grass of their yard, make the corner.

 

The smell hits them first. Cooking meat, burning and crackling fat. Then the pop and sizzle of _fire_.

 

It's a gnome. Small but flickering waves of flame wrap around its withering body, mouth agape with a silent scream. The grass is untouched beneath it, flattening under its flailing limbs, but pristine and green with life.

"Ginny?" Fred whispers, a knot in his throat, but then the gnome stills, and the fingers of red bleed _blue_. The gnome's body collapse, suddenly a heaping pile of dark ash. _Merlin's pants._ "Ginny? Are you okay?"

She's braced against the side of the shed, the long, uncut grass smoldering around her. Her face is tear streaked, blotchy and red, and she shudders with a sob. They pick their way forward as she continues to stare at what used be a gnome, trembling like a leaf. Her eyes don't see them, and snap closed as Fred places a hand on her arm.

"What happened, Gin?" George asks, but she shakes her head, eyes squeezing tighter.

"Mum!" Fred yells, worry a roiling pit in his stomach. "Mum, Ginny's hurt!"

It's almost as if between one blink and the next that Mum is there. Her hands are mud streaked, dirt smudged along a cheek, and pant knees dark with stains, but she's crowding them without care. Their worry doubles as she takes on the drifting ash, and the smell of burnt grass and fat with a drawn face.

"Ginny, sweetheart, are you okay?" she asks, and Fred bites his lip as his sister blinks owlishly for one, terrible and long moment.

" _M-Mum_ ," she whimpers, pale as a ghost, and bundles into Mum with a cry.

George gives his twin a look, and Fred mirrors the helplessness. They should have looked after her better, kept a closer eye, and now. Now she's hurt again,  _still hurting,_ and they're ill-equipped to do much of anything. It burns, to be so helpless, that they didn't see any of the last year coming. And, it's like their sister is a fragile shade of who she used to be, weak smiles and tired eyes, but still stubborn, horrifically so. 

The Healers said she'd be okay, given time, but it seems to be dragging on and on. And, they—

 

 

 

They don't feel like very good brothers, to Ginny, to Ron.

 

_To Harry._

 

"We've got to do better," George tells Fred as they watch Mum ease Ginny up and toward the Burrow.

 

Fred swallows, gives a nod.

Then they follow.


	4. leaked pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for updating late, i've been so busy i lost track of the fridays >w>;;  
> (and, also, honestly, what family only tries for three kids when Molly and Arthur have 7...)

" _... out, this is a girls talk only, boys, I'm sorry,_ " wafts up from the floor, and Ron turns over with a grumble.

 

 

There are more words, and he blinks open his eyes at the shutting of a door. Steps. Voices outside his own door, faint, then fading.

 

 

" _... not fair, we care about Ginny too._ "

" _... just like that time… Bill…_ "

 

 

The twins. Ugh. Ron takes a moment to stare blearily at the space above him before sitting up with a yawn and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Morning light filters weak through his window, and barely lightens the gloom of his room. Another door slams shut somewhere above him, and Ron gives the ceiling a confused look. What's their deal?

 

 

" _... tell me what happened, dear?_ "

 

 

Oh. A look at the floor. Ah, right. The hole. He'd almost forgotten about it, honestly. The past two years have been more exciting than trying to clean Charlie's room has ever been. It takes a moment, and then he remembers. Not Bill's room anymore.

Ginny's.

He scrambles up, takes care not to thump too heavily. They, he and Ginny, used to talk through it before. Before Hogwarts and all. Late at night, bemoaning another year stuck at home as their brothers go off to school, out into the world. Ron used to share this room with the twins before Charlie left, and Ginny's room was Bill's. He thinks the twins made it, stubbornly wheedled through the floor for who knows how long, and they'd guarded it jealously with furtive glances, and room evictions once Ron was old enough, before they got their own room upstairs next to Percy.

Quickly, he clears out the clutter under his bed and wiggles underneath. The hole in the floor is in the corner that meets the walls by his bed, and while it's not easily accessible, Mum's never found it, so.

 

 

" _... won't be angry. I'm here to listen,_ " says Mum, and there's a sound that reminds him suspiciously of crying.

" _I-It bit me, the gnome,_ " stumbles Ginny, and Ron's curls his fingers into fists. Ouch, he knows how that feels. " _And, um, e-everything got really, really h-hot? Then it was s-screaming and on fire, and then it was g-gone and-_ "

 

 

His worry that had begun to abate comes back in full force, so brutally crushing and tight around his ribs. It'd been a fear that... that maybe all of the diary hadn't been gone, left traces or a mind. Ginny's core had been so weak and sore, so drained, her first year's exams got pushed until August. Things like to set up shop when you're weak, Dad warns so often enough.

 

 

" _-sweetheart, it's okay, just a bit of accidental magic is all._ "

" _B-But-_ "

" _It felt different, didn't it?_ " A pause. Some shuffling. Ron presses his ear closer to the hole, straining. Different? Different how? " _Yes, I have something to tell you then, okay? Nothing bad, I promise._ "

 

 

Fire. It's warmth and heat, light. But it's hot, greedy and hungry too. So high it can burn blue, render everything to ash, fed by wind, tempered by water, feared and respected in equal measure by earth. It is the seat of will, and is defined by its passion and intensity. It rests in the gut and throat.

 

 

" _Your great grandmother could send fire dancing across the grass, burn not a blade, and turn into solid flame,_ " Mum says, and Ron touches his neck, swallows. Mum doesn't ever talk about family like this. Not ever. " _I remember an aunt who could fly like a phoenix made of flame, and a young cousin that slept curled in pits of fire when she was sick. And, my brothers—_ " Ginny makes a noise, and Mum takes another pause. " _They're all g-gone now. We're all that's left of the Prewett clan, but you're the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and maybe that means something, Ginny._ "

 

 

Oh. Oh, maybe a little jealously wells up at that. Overshadowed by his brothers, and now even his sister. Ron blinks at the base of the wall, fingers curling a little too hard into the skin of his neck.

 

 

" _I'm s-scared,_ " Ginny whimpers, and Ron shakes his head, the thoughts away. " _How do you know it's not-not T-Tom?_ "

" _Oh, sweetheart..._ "

 

They talk a bit more, but Ron doesn't really hear it. She doesn't need his envy, doesn't deserve such a, a nasty thing from him. Neither does his brothers, or Harry. With a inhale, exhale, Ron rubs at the back of his neck. Merlin's beard, she needs him more than he needs anything in the world.

A pulse, like a ripple in water, startles him from his thoughts. It's warm, but brief, and he's never felt something quite like it before. Ron turns his attention back to Mum and Ginny, quiets his mind. Takes a breath.

 

" _... talk to Bill, or Charlie or your Father, but anyone else you'll have to determine without a doubt that they know or are like you, okay? Your vow is more lenient than mine, but that's all my own will allow._ "

 

 

A vow? That's... that's pretty serious, though not so much as an oath, but nearly just as binding if he remembers right. _Merlin,_ what is all this?

 

 

" _I can't t-tell Ron? Fred or George?_ " Ginny protests, and he likes the feeling that ensues. At least she'd still pick him too even as they've drifted apart a little with starting at Hogwarts, new friends, being away from home and all that was familiar.

" _Only if they ever manifest themselves, dear_ ," Mum replies, and Ron has to chew on the inside of his cheek because.

 

 

He's not supposed to know. Probably never was supposed to. It hurts, a little, but even he knows you don't try to test the waters of a vow. He was never going to know, never ever. And. Now he does. The boy isn't sure he knows what to do with that. He knows. What does he do about that? Anything?

 

 

" _How about I tell you some stories sometime? I may have told them before, but I promise they're maybe a little more true than you thought they were. Would that be okay?_ "

 

 

Ginny makes an affirming noise, and Ron doesn't think he can listen anymore. Not right now. Feeling quite strange, he shimmies out from under his bed, and takes a moment, leans against the side for a moment. The boy looks at his hands, eyes the wrinkles, the creases, and swallows thickly.

_I can't tell anybody,_ Ron thinks. Not Mum, and not the twins though they are good at secrets, but he might not be able to impress upon them the severity, the possibility that if they even _mention_ something out of turn to Mum, it might hurt her, hurt Ginny. Not Charlie, not Bill, not Dad, not Percy.

 

 

 

 

Nobody.

 

 

 

 

"I've been through worse," he says quietly to his room at large, and that'll have to be enough.

Ron breathes.


	5. wrong turn at Albuquerque

It's nearly the Summer Solstice, barely a day away in fact.

The weather is nice for once, not a cloud marring the sky for miles in either direction and the air comfortably cool. With the manor grounds still too damp from the weekend rains, the elves had to set up their lunch in the courtyard instead of out in the gardens, which is a terrible shame, in Draco's opinion. Mother's gardens are something of a darling amongst their... crowd.

"—and, really, Father is absolutely insistent that I have you over, Drakkey," Pansy sighs, and slumps most un-lady-like over her tea. "He just won't take no for an answer. If he'd just have a single conversation with Ponciano, he'd see what I see in him." A pause. "You do remember him, don't you? He's quite adept with fire magic, he did a spell of a sort before he put his name in the... Goblet, remember?"

There's a tense moment at the reminder, but after a few seconds, Draco gives her an amused smile, and at her pout, says, "Oh, I do. Quite an acrobat, hm?"

Pansy lights up as he turns his attention to the tea Minty pours into his cup. "  _Yes,_ he's a Capoeira Dancer all the way from—"

 

Silence. Abrupt, and strange.

 

While it's not terribly out of character, Pansy lets herself get distracted in comfortable company, Draco knows, but this silence spans a whole thirty seconds longer than it takes for her to drag the conversation in another direction. It's... startling, to say the lest; Pansy is never without _something_ to say.

Water gurgles in his ears, and Draco looks up from his tea, the teaspoon swirling in the milk lazily. He stiffens.

 

 

 

"Pansy?" he asks, and her dreamy expression doesn't falter, dazed eyes staring at him most raptly. This is... familiar, except, he'd shaken it off, hadn't he? Only—

 

 

 

 _No,_ he thinks, and fear races his heart. _No!_ Draco jerks from the table, and his teacup throws itself wildly off the table in his agitation, spoon and all. The meandering peacocks shriek in surprise, and Pansy jolts, damp green eyes blinking blearily.

She squints at him after a moment, fingers curling tight the linen. "... Draco?"

Draco swallows, hands fists at his sides. "Pansy, something's just come up, could we try this again another day?" he says, lies, and wants to scream.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"... And you're sure of this?"

Gritting his teeth, Draco nods, looks away, and Narcissa presses a hand to her lips. Terror flutters her heart, and while it is such a strange emotion to feel, it's not unfamiliar. She had hoped it only a distant, childish memory. Something wet touches her hand, and the woman realizes she's crying.

Her son, her baby boy, her only _child,_  looks back, and alarm settles across his face like a veil. "Mother? Mother, we can... we can work with this can't we?" he pleads, and reaches for her free hand. "I can practice on muggles, and I'll get a hold of this, I will, Mother. Please don't cry."

This is all her fault. If she had only found a way to tell Lucius, maybe this wouldn't be happening; they could have prepared, could have done something to make this reality forever nothing but a nightmare. Narcissa curses her mother, her father; they should have let the heritage _die._

She blinks away the tears, and bundles Draco closer. His arms curl strong across her back, and Narcissa exhales with a tremble. "Draco, I have something... something to tell you," she says, and lets the words go, finally free of that damned familial oath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_I'm so sorry, Draco._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually going to be in the main fic like 5 chapters ago as an interlude but I changed my mind!
> 
> also I finally saw FBaWtfT, and boy lemme tell u I liked it but certain bits really rubbed me wrong.


	6. not now, kiddo pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haneda, Yurika. First Year (GoF).

 

The hags in blue can smell the seawater on her, the salt in her blood and on her skin, but not see her teeth, the rows and rows of them, can only see how small land makes her, how it strips her of her weight, Age, and Power. Their lips curl, flash soft and blunt, and it does not impress Yurika, she has seen more than their mouths carry or could dream to be, seen red muddy the water before Might grander than their glamours and frosted lips, the unspent electricity that crawls over their skin. 

It is in a few of their eyes. They do not see  _Big Tooth,_ they see Merfolk, perhaps a Siren or Selkie come to land, some lesser cousin, a weak and vulnerable cousin, prey to these fire birds of Storm and fresh water.

 

 

 

They do not see Yurika, and it is her downfall to not see them in turn.

 

 

 

Dinner has only just ended when a thrall attempts to latch onto Yurika, an icy grip that slithers around the curve of neck, tries to dig in, to burrow, and demand penance for anything and everything. She barely manages to rip it free before two more take a bruising and crushing hold, and she drops the robe folded over her arm. A mistake, she has made a _mistake._  They advance with cruel smiles, and held in place, she can only watch as housemates and classmates alike walk past the unbeaten path to a study hall blissfully unaware.

Yurika snarls at them, gaze taking on a red tinge. "Let go," she demands, but their smiles only widen at her words.

"What a cute little guppy," one of them coos, her English so much better, and Yurika can feel her face go flushed. It is getting so much harder to think, think, _think_. "So far inland, and away from Home."

The cold seeps deeper, and Yurika almost forgets why she is even angry in the first place when… when there are three cute girls in front of her. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Three cute girls deigning to _speak_ to her, _her_ of all people. Her heart feels about ready to burst from her chest in sudden nerves. _Oh,_ _they are so pretty, how could I stay mad at them?_

One taps a perfect nail to soft and pink lips in mock surprise. "Oh dear, the poor thing must be so lonely," she simpers, and sniffs as if she might cry. Yurika's vision starts to go blurry because. Because yes, she is, she wants to go Home, and a gleeful look suddenly turns the veela's vizage ugly. "Look, it's crying, the stupid fish."

No, no, _no_. Rage swamps her, a heat so hot, and it chokes Yurika, and.

 

 

 

the thrall loosens just, just a little bit.

 

 

 

" _Ugly hags_ ," she spits, trembling, and it happens too fast.

Pain bursts radiant and blistering in her cheek, her head swinging sideways, and fresh tears bubble up. The rage leaves her as quickly as it came, but the grip has lost ground, and Yurika stifles a ragged exhale. Noises of indignation, agitated gestures out of the corner of her eye, words she can't understand. The hold weakens a little more, but then a hand catches her chin and pulls her face back around, nails digging into her skin.

"Stupid fish," the veela repeats, grey eyes narrowed, and taps Yurika's head with her wand, says a string of french, and her neck begins to tingle, like pins and needles, like a bug walking along her skin.

Something moves in the edge of her vision, just under the veela's raised arm, behind the other two. A crawling and odd shadow despite the light, red eyes and sharp hands, but then green and silver. Brown hair, pale skin.

"What… are you… doing?" drawls a Carrow, barely stepping into of the torchlight. Her eyes meander from Yurkia's to the three veela in a lazy glance. "You should… stop… whatever… this is..."

The veela lets go of Yurika, and turns around with a scowl. "Or what?" she snaps, and the tingling stops.

 

 

Yurika drags down a breath, and it _burns_ , an unfamiliar but familiar wash of oxygen against a body meant for water. Her hands fly to her neck, and she can feel them, _gills_ fluttering with not a drop of water, suddenly beached and dying upon the sand, gasping. _S_ _he cannot breathe._

 

 

_My wand_ , she thinks desperately, slowly. Yurika hates her wand, hates it, _hates it_ , but she needs it right now. The attention is on Carrow now, a creature of the night, of claws snatching young from the trees and the streets, and she struggles to pat her pockets, front? Back? _Her robes bundled at her feet._

Yurika's knees buckle as the light goes out, black spots chewing at the edges of her vision. _My wand, my wand,_ she thinks through the pain, reaches blindly for her robes. _Where is my wand?_

Something shrieks, someone yells. The lights come back on, and someone is crying. A hand grips her shoulder, and she whips around with a growl, and chokes. Her neck, her neck, her fingers scrabble at the stupid gills, but other hands pulls them away and she tries to scream but it's trapped in her throat.

There's a feathered touch to her neck, and the tingling returns with a vengeance, and she just wants to sob. Stop, stop, _stop!_

 

 

 

Then. _Air!_

 

 

 

" _God_ ," she cries, and sags into the body holding her. The gills are gone, she can breathe. She can  _breathe._

"There, there," says a gruff and heavily accented voice, a voice she definitely doesn't know. At least, not closely. But. "Why will you not get your Head of House, he would fix this, yes?"

Yurika looks up, sniffles, and actually wants to die. She is getting snot and tears all over _Viktor Krum_ , but she cannot seem to untangle her fingers from his too fine shirt.

"It'd make... everything... worse," breathes a voice, and Yurika sees that Carrow is hovering, sees the sweat along the other girl's forehead. "Sorry... can't say."

"I see," Krum murmurs, and actually holds her a little closer, considering, then picks her up. Yurika squirms, vision going blurry with more tears, and hides her face, mortified but relieved, and does not fight it as much as she wants to. "Well, your Healer, she would not need the specifics? Nasty unfinished hexes can revert despite finite."

"I… suppose."

Yurika flexes her fingers, the joints aching with how hard she has been holding on, and sags, suddenly tired. When Krum talks, it's with a rumble in his chest. It's… nice.

"Can you do, what is the word… invisible, a charm, on me? Better not to advertise, no?" he says, and adjusts his hold of her.

Carrow makes a disgruntled noise. "Not… well. Might short… out."

Krum rolls his shoulders. "That is fine, you lead the way after I do the spell," he says, and shifts his hands. Whispers, “ _ Nevidim. _”

Yurika shivers, a little awed at the magic, and wishes for her fat, her blubber. It does not translate well, not while she is this young.

 

 

 

She feels so small, and hates it.


	7. not now, kiddo pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ponciano Almeida, 7th year Durmstrang Student, the Triwizard Tournament (GoF)

Viktor's got his grumpy face on, half hidden by a faintly steaming cup of coffee, eyes casting subtly to the other end of the table. Ponciano observes this for the better half of breakfast, which is every day such a treat, and tries to follow his line of sight in spurts and bursts to no avail. The other half of the table is a much more clustered group the further it gets to the end, and from here he can't quite tell what exactly has caught his friend’s eye.

Something pokes Ponciano’s side, a fork in Sergei’s hand. “ _What is it? Viktor is so sour this morning,_ ” he asks, frowning, but a glimmer of amusement lies in his eyes. Viktor makes a face from across the table, fluent in Russian, and Ponciano grins. “ _Pouting, like a toddler with its lollipop taken, no?_ ”

“ _Shut up, Sergei,”_ snaps Viktor, face severe, and the younger boy raises his hands in surrender.

Ponciano frowns himself, however. Touchy, this morning, not unusual, but. “Something eating at you, Viktor?” he asks, in Norwegian, and then aware of their eavesdropping schoolmates, in Portuguese, ” _c’mon now, really, what's wrong with our Champion?_ ”

 

Viktor shoots their part of the table a dirty look. “ _Nothing,_ ” he grumbles, and stabs at his English breakfast.

 

A convincing liar, he is not. “ _This have anything to do with why you came back so late last night?_ ” Ponciano hazards, and by the dour look sent his way, figures it's a yes. “ _You can tell me, Viktor, I won't laugh… much._ ”

“Pony, _you're such an annoyance,_ ” he mumbles, and shoots another look down the table. Sighs, like in defeat. “ _The Veela, they attacked a first year here. A…_ Torbalan _tried to scare them off but they didn't until I stepped in.”_

Confused, Ponciano rubs his chin. Torbalan. Torbalan. Hm. He needs to shave. “ _Don't know that word,_ ” Ponciano says, and when Viktor gives him a droll look, shrugs.

 

 

“ _A child taker._ _A bag man._ ”

 

 

Oh. _Oh._ “ _A Sack Man,_ ” Ponciano corrects, undeniably surprised. He's never met one, and it goes to a school, full of kids? Wow. Just, just wow. _Wo_ _w._  “ _So, you saved the first year? I'm sure their Madame Olympe will see they are sent home immediately then._ ”

Viktor hums, face curling in disgust. “ _The Sack Man advised to not tell anyone. Would complicate and worsen things._ ”

Ponciano blinks. Complicate what, exactly. “ _Why?_ ”

“ _Who knows, not me,_ ” he says, and pushes his plate away. It disappears between one blink and the next. “ _The English are shit, anyway, look at what they do to werewolves. Wish I never came._ ”

Ponciano stifles a laugh because Viktor cursing is always a treat because he's, he's just not made for it, at all, in any language and Ponciano knows four of the five Viktor knows. But. Yeah. He has a point. After some Professor was outed last year? Legislation after legislation was enacted. It was not a pretty sight, but the Isles are pretty isolationist, so outcry was largely ignored. Not that Durmstrang can be hollier than thou, Hogwarts accepts those born of nonmagicals, after all, but.

Hogwarts is lucky Durmstrang even came. They had to leave behind five of their schoolmates for this, and it rankled, horrifically so.

" _The English are shit,_ ” Ponciano echoes, agrees. “ _But, lucky you were here, huh? Who knows what would have happened then._ ”

Viktor glowers, and casts about for something else to eat. “ _She probably would have died,_ Pony.”

She. She. Okay. He knows most of the first years, enough second years. They're easily entertained, and Ponciano loves kids, wants a whole litter of them, and can't pass up any chance to wow a crowd of them. He looks down the table, keeps it casual like. Khan’s down there, total sweetheart, Bhagat, the gremlin. The Carrow twins. Murton… Shetty. Hm. Surrounded by fourth years, upper years, might be the girl. Short black hair, narrowed brown eyes glaring at the veela contender, Monty, Malfee, something. She looks exhausted to Ponciano’s well trained eye. Viktor can say he's fine until he’s blue in the face, but Ponciano will know, like he does now.

What was her name… He's heard it, from a first year, because he's seen her around. Largely by herself, the kids pointing her out in the rare appearance. Something with an H, or J, or G if he's unlucky.

 

 

 

But, well, this just won't do. “ _I_ _'m going to be her friend_ ,” he whispers, and at Viktor's startled look, adds, “ _I_ _'m going to get her friends._ ”

 

 

 

“Pony, _no_.”

“Pony, _yes_ ,” he insists, and.

Sergei cracks up, choking on his drink, and there goes the whole neighborhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ponciano was the guy who did cool as shit acrobatics in the Goblet of Fire as Durmstrang arrived into the Great Hall. The character didn't have a name besides the actor's sooo, yeah!


	8. not now, kiddo pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait, college and life is kicking my ass rn haha...

Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students can sit in on classes if they wish, though most don't due to the… quite big gap in education. Maybe that's not fair, the two schools are heavy into specialization, whereas Hogwarts seems to be more about well-roundedness. Being a jack of all trades, specialization later. But, be as that may, they cover over half the information they get in three years in one.

So. Nobody sits in on classes, just congregates into study groups in relation to year and specialty. That's what Durmstrang does, anyway. And, on that happy note, Ponciano takes advantage of the non-mandatory attendance to make friends and dazzle the masses.

“Hey, kid, bet you a uh, _qual era a palavra_ … a sickle. Bet you a _sickle_ I can backflip off that wall,” he says, pointing, and she looks at him like a strange and dangerous creature. Worked on Wolpert, oh well. “No? Don't wanna take the bet?”

“Bets are for fools,” she says, slow and purposeful, and gets up as if to leave, closes the book in her hands.

Ponciano pouts. “Aw, don't be that way,” he whines. “I know some cool tricks, honest.”

Haneda’s lip curls. “Go away,” she growls, and Ponciano knows when he's beat, and backs off.

He watches her go, disappear around the corner with not a single glance back. So, this is gonna be a little tough, but no one can accuse him of giving up that easily. Ponciano rubs his chin, and frowns himself. Okay, maybe not his best plan of action. This House system might be onto something, hm.

 

Time to reevaluate.

 

He wanders the halls after that unsuccessful first try, pondering. Haneda isn't easily dazzled, so his parlour tricks won't impress her, ever. He knows nothing about her likes or dislikes, so maybe he should start there. Maybe he ought to talk to that Zabini character, ask about her, since they seem like good friends. He should appreciate that it's now Pony's life mission to fill her life with friendship.

He's seriously considering that when a class lets out right in front of him. It's like a floodgate being released, the English chatter nigh comprehensible with the sheer amount of voices, and a gaggle of students pause when they spot him.

“ _Oi, aren't you Viktor Krum’s friend?_ ” asks a boy, his robes crested red and gold. Gryffindor.

Ponciano smiles to hide the fact that the boy’s accent makes his ears want to bleed from frustration. His English is good, but not _that_ good, though he thinks he got the gist. “Yeah, Viktor is a friend of mine,” he replies, remembers that it's a bad idea too late, and suddenly the group swarms him.

The questions bleed into each other. Ponciano catches words too slow to parse and formulate an answer, but he figures he knows what they're asking. “I don't play Quidditch, I can't get autographs, and Viktor doesn't like rabid fans,” he recites in English, purposely too happy.

They blink at him as a group, fall silent. Processing that, probably.

“One of you know where I can find a Blaise Zabini?” he asks into the silence.

Their faces curl in disbelief, suspicion. Oops, right, House rivalries. Interesting stuff, that. “ _You'd best stay away from them,_ ” advises a girl in blue, as if most of Durmstrang hasn't sat with them the entire time they've been here. “ _Dark wizards, the lot._ ”

Interesting, like he said. Ponciano gives them an incredibly amused look. “Right.” Pauses. “Want to know what I am specializing in?” he asks, abruptly, and they nod, interested, but still wary, as they should be. He leans in closer, grins. “ _Necromancy._ ”

It should not be as hilarious as it is to see the color drain from their faces, for them to shuffle backwards in sudden apprehension, and, dare he say it? With wands at the ready. But. It _is,_ one of the most funny things he's ever seen, and he's seen some shit being Viktor's friend.

Ponciano guffaws, drawing up in the sheer _hilarity_. “Just kidding,” he teases, even as he really is not. He's specializing in Necromancy Research, Necromancy itself is a whole other highly selective branch, but he's pretty sure they won't care for the distinction.

“ _That… That wasn't funny,_ ” the first boy snaps, his friends nodding, uneasy.

“What's not funny is calling others Dark Wizards because you don't like them,” Ponciano retorts, because it's a choice that should be respected. Dark doesn't mean  _Evil,_ after all.

But, he can tell they're done with him, and takes no offense when they just sort of. Walk away.

Oh well. No skin off his nose.

 

“ _You… You didn't have to do that._ ”

 

Startled, Ponciano turns around. Green and silver robed, Speak of the Devil. Where did she come from? “Do… what?” he asks, English abstracts still a weak point.

The girl narrows her eyes at him. He thinks he's seen her doting on the veela contender during meals. “ _Defend Slytherins. No one will thank you for that._ ”

Ponciano shrugs with a small smile. “No thanks needed.” He eyes her for a second. “You… would not happen to know where a Blaise Zabini is, would you… I didn't manage to hear your name.”

She smirks at him, a devious look. “ _I didn't give it,_ ” she says, sly, and Ponciano huffs. " _What's in it for me? If I tell you where Zabini is._ ”

“Free dance lessons?” he hazards and she gives him a droll look. “Very expensive, very exclusive, _Brazilian_ dance lessons, but free?”

Oh, now she looks interested. “ _That would show Bulstrode, wouldn't it,”_ she mumbles, and at Ponciano’s guileless look, continues, “ _I_ _s it distinguished?_ ”

He nods. It's true. Of a sort. “It is held in very high esteem,” he tells her, and it is. Ponciano is very honored to know it, and to be able to teach it to anyone willing. Not many foreign wizards are, too lazy.

She looks at him, weighing his worth. “ _Deal,_ ” she says, and sticks out her hand first, much to Ponciano’s pleasure.

He grips her hand in turn, shakes it. “Tomorrow afternoon, the field where the freshies practice riding the broom, wear clothes you are comfortable in,” he says, and withdraws his hand. “My name is Almeida, Ponciano.”

The girl gives an amused snort. “ _Pansy Parkinson,_ ” she returns, and he smiles, wide.

“Both beginning with a P, how lovely,” he muses aloud. “But, please, the Zabini fellow.”

Parkinson sniffs. “ _Oh, what do you even want him for, he's a stick in the mud._ ”

“Well,” he starts, rubs the back of his neck, “it's a favor, but this freshie, Haneda, I'm trying to get her some friends.”

“ _Haneda… freshie_ ,” she echoes, thinking. " _Oh, Haneda, yes, a first year. Why? She's got such a foul temper._ ”

“Just trying to help a kid out,” he says, because Viktor’s never steered him wrong before.

Parkinson hums. “ _I'll do you one better then, I'll bring her tomorrow_.”

Ponciano blinks. Well. This has shaped up quite nicely. “That would be amazing,” he exclaims, and claps his hands together. Parkinson gives him a bemused smile. “Okay, I will see you, both of you, then. Tomorrow, two hours after lunch, the field where your first years learn to ride the broom.”

She nods. “ _See you then,_ ” she says, and then just about flounces off. 

Ponciano watches her go, amused.


End file.
